


Dolls Like You and Me

by Toast_Senpai



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, retrofuturism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: You recognize that this ain’t how it should be.





	Dolls Like You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> AM finally released a new album that’s all about space and I’m in love. So take this weird ‘it’s the 80s but it’s also a fictional timeline because the moon has been colonized’ thing. Inspiration and title/summary from Star Treatment by Arctic Monkeys (and a few other songs from Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino). Also, I’ve been reading threeplusfire’s [Take My Breath Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13870704/chapters/31909842) which definitely adds to the 80s inspiration.

It was on the first day of summer that Trott met him.

The mini calendar he kept in his work locker read June 21, 1984. He’d only been a server for two months at Saturn Mist Country Club, and it had been going fine. Better than his last job. Trott straightened the little white bowtie around his neck in front of the locker mirror and checked his teeth, made sure his bangs were in place. The owner, Sips, liked to make surprised floor visits to greet the guests and make sure everything was running smoothly. Basically it was just an excuse for the man to talk to his fellow rich friends and eyeball the wait staff, all of who were leagues above Trott in terms of looks (but that was just his own low self-esteem talking). He still didn’t know what part of his brain thought that _this_ job was right for him, but he couldn’t pass up the hefty pay that came along with it. So he settled in and was trying his best.

Trott had been having a relatively smooth day. There weren’t as many people as usual, and the orders were mostly from the bar. He easily stepped around the ocean of tables, wondering when the décor of the place was going to be updated. It wasn’t 1970 anymore, although Trott was sure Sips had some nostalgic love for the era he grew up in. Everything in the building had those soft, earthy tones of burnt orange and beige, all undercut by chrome. As much as Trott preferred reds and purples, there was something pleasing about the chocolate hardwood floors and soft blue walls. He had gotten used to it.

The late afternoon brought in more guests. Most of the folks were old married men. Trott tried to ignore their gossip, sick of hearing about nagging wives and the Other Women. Is this what money did to men? Trott kept his smile a permanent flash of white. His coworkers did the same. Too bad it was Thursday. He could taste the weekend, desperate for payday and the precious two days off.

A man who couldn’t be much older than himself came in alone, with slicked back auburn hair that reflected the amber lights so brightly it was almost too much to look at. He pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his green polo shirt.

Trott had never seen him before. He would remember or have heard about a guy like this. What was he even doing _here_ , of all the places? Trott tried not to stare as the man was led to a table, one of the cozy booths along the back wall where the more important people sat.

He may have only been here for two months, but Trott knew instantly that this guy was high priority. Plus, he’d been put in Trott’s serving area and was now a part of his responsibility.

Trott picked up a menu and approached swiftly. He introduced himself, then handed over the heavy book filled with far too many dishes. Trott waited for a drink order as the man silently looked through the thick pages.

“Perfect martini. Stirred. Straight up. With an olive.”

Trott blinked. The voice was achingly familiar, the type of deep honey resonance that sounded great on radio and even better in person. A low vibration that he knew would be able to rise high and clear with a laugh. He should probably stop staring and get the drink.

He nodded once and spun away. Trott stumbled over the order relay to the bar, distracted. His mind flipped through different musical artists, trying to place the voice, but nothing close even came up. Perhaps he hadn’t heard anything like it and he was just imagining it. Either way, it was a lovely sound accompanying an even lovelier face. It was rare to get any real lookers in here, especially ones not over fifty.

When the drink was ready he scooped it up and returned to the man. Trott set it down carefully and waited, hands behind his back.

Trott didn’t expect the man to instantly raise the glass to his lips and take a slow draw. It was fine, though, because he didn’t have any other guests trying to flag him down.

The man’s eyebrows drew together. He pulled the glass away, lips puckered. It was a funny expression, and if Trott wasn’t busy smiling he would have laughed.

“This is disgusting. Did you not hear my order correctly?” The glass clinked heavy as it was set back on the metal table top. Blue eyes flickered to his own. “Maybe you should write it down this time.” The man repeated, “ _Perfect_ martini. Stirred. Straight up. With an olive.”

Trott glanced at the drink he had brought. It sure looked like what the man had ordered, olive and all. He had no idea what a perfect martini was but he remembered telling the bartender exactly what this guy had requested.

And even if the man was coming off as a bit of a dick, he had a job to do. Trott retrieved the glass, apologized, and left once more. The bartender gave him a weird look when Trott told him it wasn’t right. His coworker insisted it was, but remade it anyway. Trott quickly took this new one back out to the guest.

The guest who was looking bored, like he was waiting for someone and didn’t want to be sat alone in an almost empty dining room. Maybe he had some hot model of a fiancé. Maybe he, too, was cheating on her with someone barely legal. Trott of course didn’t know, and he didn’t _want_ to know. He _did_ want to hear that exquisite voice again though, even if it was tinted in annoyance.

The man sipped this new drink. Then he lowered the glass with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t think the bartender knows what a perfect martini is.” He pushed the glass away. “Tell him to ease up on the dry vermouth, will ya?”

Trott had never had a guest be so damn specific about what he wanted in a stupid drink. And a martini of all things. His smile twisted, turned sillier than he ever let it get before. He sputtered a little as he said, “What, you want me to call the martini police on him or something?” It was oh so very dumb of him to say because it could cost him this very job, but it honestly just slipped out. He wasn’t quite used to this whole customer service thing.

The man stared at him for a moment, then he too was smiling, and by god was it gorgeous. He huffed through his nose. “I sure wish there was such a thing.”

Trott wanted to tell this guy to fund it, lord knew he had the cash for it if he was coming to _this_ club. But instead he grabbed the glass and left, trying hard not to run.

As the bartender (now in quite the negative mood) made the drink for the third time per Trott’s instructions, he thought about how he could maybe do something right. And by right he meant wrong, because hitting on the guests was not allowed. Trying to pick up the guests was _definitely_ not allowed. But he knew a few of his female coworkers made a lot of extra cash on slow nights doing things he definitely wouldn’t do with someone twice his age. But the one out there right now, he was pretty perfect. And apparently he had liked Trott’s dumb joke, and that was _something_ , wasn’t it?

The coveted drink was ready, and Trott hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice if the bartender had spit in it or not. Either way, he took it out.

The man was finally pleased, too. He closed his eyes and hummed, savoring the taste. Trott wet his lips, locking away the satisfied image for later uses. He picked up the menu, ready for the order.

It took a minute, but finally the man came out of whatever martini trance he had entered. He pet the rim of the glass with his index finger, the other hand cradling the stem. There were no rings on his fingers, and internally Trott cheered, although he definitely didn’t have to guts to try out some pickup lines he’d heard the girls use. He was sure they wouldn’t work on this young guy anyway.

“Can you tell the owner that Alex Smith is here to see him?” the man asked. “I’m a bit early but he’s expecting me.”

The name was so generic that Trott was sure that it had to be fake. Alex Smith. Really? No one in real life had that unfortunate combination.

“Nothing from the menu, sir?” Trott asked, because he wanted to keep this going. He had a great idea, too. Trott opened it up to the first page and pointed to the second item listed. “Today’s special is lobster mac and cheese with a six ounce sirloin.”

Alex perked up at that. But the spark of interest left a second later. “No, thank you.”

Trott wondered if he should try again with a different dish, but he didn’t want to come across as bothersome. He went back to the staff area where there was a telephone and dialed the number for Sips’ office. Thankfully the man picked up after the first ring.

“Someone is here for you. A Mr. Alex Smith,” Trott drawled.

“Already? All right. I’ll be down there in a few minutes.”

Trott was about to hang up, but Sips made a request. “Can you get the movie room ready? Ross is off tonight, ain’t he? I need someone to throw on Blade Runner and bring us cocktails.”

Trott agreed to do it because really, he couldn’t exactly say no. He placed the phone back on the receiver, thankful that Ross had shown him how to work the controls in the movie room a week ago. He checked in on the few tables he had been assigned before he was off to prep the requested space.

By the time it was arranged perfectly (or so Trott thought it was), Sips was at Alex’s booth. Trott took his time making his way over, noticing the cheerful look that had graced Alex’s smooth face. Sips had that kind of effect on people –his charm, his money, his deep eyes. Trott wouldn’t turn down an offer, though he wasn’t expecting one. Not from Sips. But it was fine, because Sips was actually a little bit intimidating.

His boss stood as Trott stepped up to the table, and Alex slowly rose as well. Trott showed them to the darkened room. He pulled out each of the plush chairs for the men.

Sips took the right, sighing as he reclined back into it. He motioned at Trott as he eyed his guest. “He’s been giving you the star treatment, yeah?”

The question caught Trott off guard, and it seemed to do the same to Alex. Alex glanced at Trott, who tried his best to keep his smile on, praying that Alex wouldn’t bring up the stupid martini tragedy because that might just be enough to end his job and he _really_ needed this right now.

Alex gave a curt nod. “Sure is.”

Trott could have kissed him.

“Fantastic,” Sips said. “Bring us a julep and mai tai, will ya?” Sips set a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “That good enough for you, Mr. Martini?”

“Of course,” Alex said, and his grin was blinding. Trott felt his heart stutter and made a hasty exit, sweating like he’d been in the hot sun for an hour.

He put in the drinks order. Kim, one of the other servers, had just come in to start her shift. Trott asked her if she could oversee his tables since he was a bit busy at the moment.

“Sure, sweetheart, but only because you’re so cute.” She winked.

Trott looked dumbly at her for a full minute as she buttoned her uniform shirt. Then he shrugged, thanked her, and went to see if the drinks were ready.

They were, and he took them back to the movie room. As he entered through the heavy door, he heard Sips say ‘Golden Boy’ and Trott almost dropped the tray of cocktails.

He shuffled closer, ears straining to pick up on the conversation even though he had missed the beginning of it.

“Two shows a day, four nights a week, and you make easy money. I don’t know why you need a month off,” Sips drawled. He spotted Trott and stared him down.

Trott moved a little faster.

Alex appeared to be very comfortable in the ocher floral chair. He rubbed at his chin. “Because I like summer here on Earth. Why’s a month matter, anyway? I need a break.”

Trott set the drinks down carefully, cursing the shake of his hands.

Sips eyed the mai tai. “Because Clavius is getting more popular, and my club isn’t the only one anymore. Did you hear that there’s some swanky new taqueria up there? And it’s getting four fucking stars? That’s unheard of. A fucking _taqueria_.” Sips pointed at the back of the room, and Trott knew it was movie time.

Alex’s laugh was _just_ as Trott had predicted, and it was a dream.

The film was meant to be background noise, Trott knew. Sips didn’t pay any attention to it as he sucked down the mai tai, focused entirely on Alex. Alex Smith, who Trott now knew was _the_ Golden Boy, the lounge singer who only did shows on the moon for the elite. The man who refused to talk to the press and was practically a mystery to those who weren’t privileged enough to vacation on the damn moon. A man sought after by every billionaire that had a spending problem because he had the vocal cords of an angel.

That’s why his voice was so familiar. Because Trott had heard a recording of a song play here, at this very country club, because there was only one person allowed to record him, and that was apparently Sips. Sips, a guy who had enough money to keep Alex Smith as his personal lounge singer at his damn moon club. Trott wondered how he managed to have such a stroke of luck when for the past year he’d been struggling to even survive.

Trott had a hard time understanding why one talented man was so coveted, so well loved by these moneybag types. Trott had only heard the one song, and the recording hadn’t been all that great of quality… but he guessed he understood the appeal. It _was_ a really nice voice. Plus, Alex was ridiculously handsome.

The film didn’t need him to watch over it, so Trott left the control box and returned to the table to take the now empty mai tai glass. Alex hadn’t touched anything.

Sips cracked his knuckles. “You want me to put you up? Honeymoon suite? You’re welcome to have it.”

Trott did _not_ want Alex to take it. He didn’t need this kind of distraction, didn’t need Alex hanging around for a month while he tried to work. It wouldn’t do his health well, to have something delicious dangled in front of him that he couldn’t have. It would be pure torture.

“If you’re offering,” Alex said, voice smooth as butter.

Trott wanted to scream.

* * *

Women sure loved to talk, didn’t they? Trott had to hear about Alex “Golden Boy” Smith a lot the next week. The only kicker was that the maids didn’t _know_ that Alex was _the_ Golden Boy, and so they couldn’t add that to their gossip.

Still, having to listen to giggles of how pretty Alex was was getting on his nerves, because he _knew_ it already, dammit, and did not need the constant reminder, thanks.

Kim came strutting into the back room as Trott was pulling up his work pants. She stared at him (well, not at his face) before she shimmied over, and Trott didn’t know why she was here so early.

“I need to swap shifts with you tomorrow,” she said around her bubble gum.

“Why?” Trott really didn’t care for the reason. He was just curious.

“Because. It’s your turn on pool duty and-”

“It is?” Shit, Trott hadn’t even checked the schedule yet. He usually wasn’t the one on pool duty. He’d only done it once before and had gotten quite the sunburn from standing around waiting on beached old men moaning for more beer and strawberry daiquiris with tiny umbrellas. He hated being out in the sweltering heat where his deodorant didn’t last more than thirty minutes and he felt like dying, having to be next to that mass of cool water without any actual relief.

“Yeah, baby, and I want to switch with you.” She was all smiles.

Trott was fine with that. But something about Kim’s determined look made him pause. “And why do you want to swap, darling?” Trott gave it his all, because he had played this game before.

Kim went shy. She picked at her nails and shifted around. “I just thought I could use the extra sun. Tan is so in right now, ya know.”

Trott looked over her already browned skin and didn’t believe her for one second. And _then_ it clicked. He knew exactly who had been hanging out by the pool a lot, via the gossip stream of maids doing the laundry in the back.

Trott leaned against the lockers, thinking he looked pretty cool, like he was back in high school and not almost thirty. “You want to see that Smith guy.” He kept it real chill.

Kim rolled her eyes. Suddenly she looked mad. “Yeah, so what? All the chicks here want him, and they’d be out of their minds _not_ to. What’s so wrong about that? He’s hella hot. Come on, just let me do pool duty tomorrow.”

Trott knew he had her. “Hm, I think _I_ could use some sun actually.” He rolled up a sleeve and pet his arm. “I’m pretty pale.” His skin was ghostly white, splattered with tiny freckles.

“The hell? I watched your tables last week, you jerk. Swap with me.”

“Yeah, and I’m grateful you did, but I don’t feel like giving up a little fresh air, toots.” So what if it was a lie. He’d do anything to see Alex in a pair of swim shorts. That body _had_ to be smoking.

Kim left in a huff, muttering many ugly obscenities under her breath, and Trott knew it was a bad idea to piss her off, but he couldn’t help it. He was in some messy bout of lust, and he sure wasn’t about to pass up any tempting opportunity like this, even if it meant temporarily breaking peace with a coworker.

Trott opened his locker and combed his bangs. So, was he just as bad as the women, then? Probably. But at least he didn’t gossip. He kept his desire inside, to himself. Besides, there was nothing wrong with just looking. That was totally allowed.

He went about his shift, seeing no signs of Alex for the entire afternoon and only feeling a slight disappointment. Whatever. The man was apparently on vacation, so he was probably off doing those kind of things, like playing golf or blowing money at the casino. Whatever it was high class people did. Maybe he was out buying expensive hair products and custom fit suits, or Rolex watches and sponsoring the newest rocket ship.

Trott shouldn’t care. But he ached to know. He wanted just a peek into that kind of life… But mostly he wanted to know just how much heat Mr. Golden Boy was packing.

* * *

“You should borrow some of my sunscreen,” Ross said to Trott on their break.

The tall man was kind enough to share his cigarette, and now his sunscreen. Trott was beyond thankful for it. They stood outside by an employee door, in the shade. The sun was obnoxious, but not as much as the sight of Alex Smith in the pool sitting in a bright pink flamingo float.

It was disturbingly cute, but also sexy because he only had on a pair of shiny sunglasses and a speedo, and Trott was ridiculously happy he hadn’t switched shifts with Kim.

But he was also slowly roasting like a pig over an open fire, skin pink and rapidly turning red. He knew it was too late for the sunscreen, but he took the small bottle Ross offered anyway with a thanks.

Ross stared with tired eyes out at the crowded pool. Trott slathered the cream over his bare arms, thankful he had been smart enough to wear a hat. He followed Ross’ gaze and it was probably wrong, but it seemed like his coworker was looking at Alex.

Trott wanted to try to mention the singer because Ross had sort of become his half friend ever since he arrived at the club. They both shared similar interests in music and games and liked being inside more than out. But…Trott still had his reservations, things he didn’t talk about, even with his friends. And yet, he felt like throwing out something casual. Just a little thing.

Ross handed back the cigarette and Trott held it lightly between his fingers. “You see that guy on the flamingo?” he asked. Ross nodded. “He’s some a famous singer.”

Ross tilted his head and looked at Trott, eyebrows high. “He is?”

Trott swallowed, throat dry and tongue heavy. “Yeah. Apparently he does shows on the moon or something for Sips’ club up there.”

“Hmm,” Ross hummed as he looked back out at the pool. “Interesting.”

Trott didn’t know what that meant. “All the girls here won’t stop talking about him.”

“That so?”

Shit. Trott waved his hand, smoke twisting around his fingers. “Yeah. The maids especially. I think I saw them sniff his sheets.” He was only half joking.

Ross huffed a laugh and gave him a side eye. “You jealous?”

The words thumped him in the chest. Trott was thankful for his already burnt skin or else his blush would have been very obvious. He let the moment hang between them and sucked on the stub of cigarette, trying to figure out what Ross was hinting at exactly, because Trott was known to jump to conclusions.

Finally, he shrugged and readjusted his hat. “Can’t say I really care.”

Ross smiled, and said nothing.

Trott knew he’d given the wrong reply.

* * *

Sips called for a staff meeting a few days later. “We’re changing up the schedule,” he said. “I’ve been getting a few complaints about certain someones I won’t name,” he paused and pointedly looked at a few of the women servers. “I want my boys to be on room service from now on. Ross, Trott, that means you guys.”

There was some chatter, and Sips told everyone to hush or he’d fire their asses. His staff shut their mouths instantly.

“And no more swapping shifts! If you want to do that, come to me for approval.”

Trott smirked and glanced at Kim, who stood silently with a deep frown.

Sips cracked his knuckles. “That’s all I wanted to say.” He sighed. “Any questions? Or, god forbid, concerns?”

Trott knew that the women were not going to easily accept this. The maids, on the other hand, looked quite pleased that their competition had been replaced by men that were of no threat.

Kim raised her hand. Sips nodded at her. “Sir,” she said sweetly, frown from before gone, “don’t you think that changing things now would be bad for the guests? They all have their preferences, and I know some who wouldn’t be too pleased if a _man_ showed up at their room.”

Sips rolled his eyes. “This ain’t a fucking brothel, Richards. I don’t really _care_ if some old horny bastard wants your perky ass serving him linguini. You just want his tips.” Then he grinned, and it looked a bit malicious. “Don’t think I don’t know what some of you gals do on the sly.”

Trott almost laughed. The women all looked so _guilty_. Ross elbowed his side and when Trott glanced at him, there was a definite shadow of a smile on his lips.

Kim was pouting now, arms crossed, clearly displeased. Trott was worried about how much satisfaction he got out of seeing her plans ruined.

“Anything else?” Sips asked. Everyone remained silent. “Good.” He left the room.

A gradual diminishing of the staff left Ross and Trott alone with Kim. She didn’t hesitate to march up to them, her focus on Trott.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be fooled,” she hissed. “I know this was your doing.” She spun on her heels and went out into the dining room.

Ross laughed, a delighted sound. He turned to Trott. “I would say that I’m shocked she thinks you’re behind this, but I’m not.”

Trott smiled. “For some reason she thinks I’m out to get her.”

Ross rubbed his hands together. “What do you think she’d do if she found out it I who made the suggestion to the boss?” His grin widened. “Do you think she’d still have a crush on me?”

Trott scoffed. “She has a damn crush on _everyone_ who’s attractive.” Wait a second-

Ross blinked. “You think I’m attractive?”

“Uh.” Trott didn’t want to have this conversation. “I mean, everyone here is good-looking. It’s weird that Sips hired me, don’t you think?” He needed a way out of this.

Ross’ smile softened, and damn if his eyes weren’t pretty all half-lidded like that. He ruffled Trott’s hair, messing up perfect bangs. “You’re plenty handsome. Don’t worry about that.” Thankfully, Ross was merciful. “This switches things up, though. I didn’t think Sips would put _us_ on room service. Now I’m going to have to show some of the girls how to run the movie room.”

Trott brushed Ross’ hand away. “I’m sure they’d love to have you as a teacher.”

An eyebrow raised. Trott turned away, intent on fixing his hair.

“You gonna be okay? Doesn’t this mean one of us will have to be on call to the honeymoon suite?” Ross asked.

Trott knew Ross knew who was up there. Trott wrenched open his locker and stared at his pink face, internally begging it to _stop_ being dumb, dammit. He combed the strands of his hair carefully. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he tried, but it sounded weird to him. Fake. Too fake.

Ross came up behind him, and Trott jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You sure?” Ross asked gently.

What was he implying? Trott threw his brush back in and slammed the metal door. He turned around, a spark of annoyance cutting through his voice. “Yeah. I will be. Thanks for being so concerned.”

He pushed past Ross and towards the door, needing to get away from the man. He’d find some solace in the crowd of guests on the dining floor, a welcomed distraction. Trott picked up a few menus from the rack.

As soon as he was out the door, he ran into Kim. She bounced off of him, then came back to jab a finger hard into his sternum.

“What are you doing with those?” she fumed. “ _I’m_ in charge of your damn tables now.” She shooed him back through the swinging door. “Go wait for room calls.”

Trott stumbled over his feet, and when he looked up he was once again face to face with Ross, who appeared a bit concerned. Trott didn’t want his pity, though. He straightened and made his way to the back where the phone was and sat. If he was going to be doing _this_ now, he should probably bring a book from home. There were several he had been meaning to read.

Ross sat across from him. Trott knew he should probably stop acting weird. But it was _hard_ when he was scared, when he got anxious, when he didn’t want anyone to know how he really felt about things, because they would surely thing there was something wrong with him, with these feelings that came in bursts and sat heavy in his gut.

“Hey-”

Ross was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Trott grabbed it.

“How can we be of service?” he asked, forcing false happiness into his voice. Ross was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed hard.

“Yeah, can I request room service? I’d like the lobster mac and cheese. And a perfect martini.”

Trott _almost_ dropped the phone, almost shoved it at Ross. But he swallowed and said a quick, “Very good. Room number?”

“Honeymoon suite.”

Why’d he even bother to ask?

Trott hung up and shot out of his seat so he could put in the order. He chatted weather with the bartender, desperate to stay away from Ross and his questioning eyes for as long as he could. When everything was ready he set it up on a cart and made for the elevators.

He didn’t even hear the music over the pounding of his heart much too loud in his ears. He honestly hadn’t even _thought_ he’d be the one doing this right now, going up to Alex’s room.

But it would be okay, wouldn’t it? He’d just wheel the cart in with a smile and then leave. That was all he had to do. No problem.

Trott knocked on the door, two swift hits to the solid wood. It was opened five seconds later.

Alex blinked a couple times, definitely not expecting _Trott_ , because he’d been getting service from everyone besides him for these past couple weeks, and it had to be a disappointment, didn’t it? Had to be, he was sure of it.

Trott waited very not patiently with a tight smile for Alex to move out of the way. It took a moment for Alex to step sideways, and Trott pushed the cart in. Then he turned, ready to leave. But _something_ in him felt a weird desire to say something. Anything, really, because here he was once again face to face with Alex Smith, looking beyond comfortable in soft sweatpants and a loose gray T-shirt. Too comfortable, too casual, too nice, and all Trott wanted to do was have a damn regular conversation with him but you don’t _do_ that when you’re on the job.

But there was something wrong with him, apparently. Trott said, “The shifts have been changed. I’m on room service now.” He was _this_ close to apologizing, because really, it had to be a real bummer, yeah? Having to see _his_ ugly mug instead when Alex had been expecting one of the girls. Maybe he’d said it to dissuade Alex, to get him to not bother with room service anymore, or to hope he’d complain to Sips so that they could all return to their regular schedule.

Alex said a bland, “Oh.” Then there was the sound of his socked feet on the carpet, and Trott looked over his shoulder at the man. “That’s fine with me. I was kind of getting annoyed with the other ones,” he admitted. Alex grinned. “Don’t tell them that, though.” He winked.

Trott hated that this guy was like _that_. What was even _that?_ Wasn’t he just like all the rest of those super rich artists? Full of themselves, liked being dickheads to others, flirted endlessly without consequences, didn’t care about what they did or said because they had enough money to make up for it? Trott knew nothing about this man other than he liked martinis, was too attractive for his own good, and had a wonderful voice.

And he also _hated_ that he’d let himself fantasize about said man, let himself want just a little piece of something he couldn’t have, let himself be _interested_. Trott found himself nodding his head, stepping past the threshold. He grabbed the handle and pulled, securing the door with a click.

He leaned heavily against the wood, trying to calm down, taking deep breaths and repeating that this would be over soon enough, there were only a couple weeks left, and then this guy would be gone and everything would go back to being how it was, no more disorder in his mind.

Trott felt so tired. He needed a nap. The not so subtle internal panicking had drained him.

There was a sudden weird feeling, like the door behind his was being opened…

The back of Trott’s head met the floor with a thump, and for a moment there was just black with a burst of tiny white stars. His mouth tingled and it felt cottony. He heard a voice, muted at first, but then becoming clearer. He cracked his eyes open, vision swimming.

Alex was kneeling over him, very much alarmed. He helped Trott sit up, asking if he was all right.

Trott winced as he felt the back of his head. It was a bit sore, but thankfully the carpet in the room was quite thick. Still, he was dizzy.

“Just a second,” Trott forced out, and found a piece of lint on Alex’s shirt to focus on.

“You sure? Should I call for an ambulance?”

Trott huffed, and that too hurt a little. “That’d be a waste of their time.”

“How about ice? I’ll get ice.” Alex stood abruptly, and before Trott could tell him no, he was out into the hallway.

This was… unfortunate. Trott really didn’t need a concussion right now, nor did he need Alex to be taking care of him. Even though it kinda was the man’s fault. But it was mainly his, because he shouldn’t have been leaning on the door like that, he should have just _left_ and went back down to Ross and tried to start some dumb conversation with him.

Alex returned with a bucket of ice from the machine. He fetched a hand towel from the bathroom and gave the homemade pack to Trott.

“Thanks,” Trott said, and pressed the ice to the back of his head. He had no idea if this was even going to help, but it probably would.

Alex resumed his kneeling on the floor next to him, hands in his lap. “I thought you would have been to the elevators by the time I opened the door,” Alex said softly. “I really shouldn’t have whipped it open like that. Sorry.”

Trott squinted at him. Why was he apologizing? This was the guy who had gotten mad when his martini wasn’t made right. It actually wasn’t his fault, so who was Trott kidding?

“It’s all right,” Trott said, and it was. He’d live. He’d been beat up far worse. He tried to give a little smile. “I should probably go so you can eat. It’s getting cold.”

Trott made to stand, and everything gave a little spin, causing him to drop the ice pack. Alex caught his arm and stood with him. He was frowning something fierce.

“Let me help you to the main floor.”

Trott wished he could shake his head without it being painful. “I can make it.” _Probably._

Alex’s grip on his arm tightened. “It’s no inconvenience, really.”

There was no getting out of this, was there? Trott mumbled, “Fine, then.” He walked as fast as he could, trying not to lean too heavy into Alex. He was not a fan of this whole situation. Though, he had to admit, being this close to Golden Boy was pretty great. The man smelled positively delicious, and he was a head taller than Trott, broad shoulders brushing his with every step. He was warm, too, so very warm. Trott wanted to soak up the heat.

The elevator opened its doors and they entered. The shiny silver walls hurt Trott’s eyes. “You really don’t have to take me down,” he said, but made no move to let Alex go.

“I want to,” was the curt reply.

Trott desperately needed some water.

Like a crack of thunder, the music in the elevator changed and Alex’s voice was around them, tinny and crooning, the same song Trott had heard before, the only one he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing. He felt Alex tense beside him.

Trott glanced at the man, curious despite the haze of pain in his head.

Alex stood still at his side, lips a thin line. He didn’t look too pleased to hear the recording of himself.

Trott wanted to ask about it, because there had to be some reason. But the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal the main floor. Alex quickly ushered him out, and took him all the way to the staff door.

“Here’s fine,” Trott said, and offered a smile. “Thanks again.”

Alex was preoccupied, but he still gave one last pat to Trott’s arm after he released him. Then he was off, returning to the elevators. Trott watched him go, until he had stepped into the metal box, a hard frown scarring his features.

* * *

A day later and Trott felt like himself again. The lump on the back of his head was almost completely gone, too.

He’d had a stressful shift, what with Sips changing things (again) so that he and Ross had to switch every couple hours between serving the dining room and taking room service calls since the club was extra busy.

But it was approaching 11:00pm, and Trott was just being released from his shift for the day. He collected his bag and went out to the parking lot. His battered Ford Fairmont sat sadly, alone, in a darkened corner, out of the way. He shoved his key into the door lock and twisted. It opened, and he dropped into the seat, threw his bag to the passenger side.

He hadn’t seen Alex anywhere today. And he didn’t want to care, but he did, because he couldn’t just let this go, could he? He was no good at letting people go, even strangers. It’s why selling drugs had been so hard. He cared _too much._ Trott jammed the key into the ignition. No, he wouldn’t think about the past. He’d promised himself. That was done with. He didn’t know those people anymore, didn’t want to know what had become of them.

Except he did, and it still stuck with him, no matter how much he tried to move on. He turned the key, and the engine came alive with a rumble. The radio crackled, and he turned it off. He wanted quiet, just the hum of the mechanical parts. He knew nothing about how cars worked, but there was something terrifyingly comforting just sitting in a car at night, listening to the clicks and ticks and whirs.

Trott closed his eyes and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel for a moment, immensely tired. He wished he could just forget about Alex Smith, forget about how stunning he looked or how nice he’d been after getting hurt. People like that… they didn’t belong in his life. They weren’t deserved, and he didn’t _need_ anyone but himself.

Trott sat up and took a breath, then shifted into gear. It took almost an hour to drive home, and he needed to leave now before it got much later.

The headlights weren’t very bright, but he didn’t have the money to try to get them fixed or replaced. He could still see, though. The highway was practically empty, hardly any other cars passing. A glance at the sky showed no stars, and that damn moon wasn’t even in sight. The first drops of rain on the cracked windshield told him all he needed.

Trott glanced in the rearview mirror. When he saw Alex, he slammed on the brakes, lurching forward with the momentum. Then Trott whipped around, but there was no one in the back seat. The dark space was completely void of any life. Trott rubbed at his eyes and turned back around to face the road. Maybe he had hit his head quite hard after all, yesterday. He chanced a glance in the mirror, and winced when he saw Alex again.

So now he was hallucinating? Great. Trott pushed on the gas. Whatever. He’d just ignore it.

“An apparition is a cheap date,” vision Alex sing-songed, then smiled.

Trott reached for the dial on the radio, but it didn’t work. He pushed at all the buttons but no noise came through.

“I’m not interested,” Trott found himself saying.

“That’s a good lie.”

The rain was starting to get worse. His wipers tried their best, but they barely did anything. And yet Trott kept going. Put his foot down a little harder.

“What’ve you been drinking lately? Whiskey?”

Yeah, a lot of it. But only on the weekends. Trott couldn’t afford more than that. He attempted to ignore Alex, but he felt the man kick the back of his seat.

“Hey, pull over up here.”

Trott felt his foot ease off the gas. He turned right on Jim Town road and put the car into park. He watched the streams of water rush over the windshield, listened to the bang of it on the roof. It was deafening.

But right next to his ear he felt breath, heard Alex’s voice say, “What do you _mean_ you’ve never seen Blade Runner?”

Trott closed his eyes. “Never got around to it,” he whispered. Why’d he do that? Why respond to his own ghosts? It was useless. It meant nothing.

The brush of fingers along his neck had Trott shivering. His skin prickled. The air coming through the vents was freezing. He switched it to heat, but nothing happened. Was this what it felt like to slowly go insane?

“You’re not crazy, baby. You’re just in love.”

Trott laughed, a clipped sound at first, but then it increased, filled the car until he felt the sting of tears at his eyes and then he was sobbing, clenching chilled hands into the steering wheel until his fingernails ached, gulping in air only to have in push right back out in sharp whimpers. He kept blinking, not able to see anything besides the yellowed blur of rain. But when he squeezed his eyes shut tight he could see Alex, and there was nothing more frustrating.

He told himself over and over to stop. He had to stop, couldn’t spend all night here, miles away from home. He could do this in the shower, in his bed, didn’t have to do it _here_.

Trott wiped at his eyes, breaths shaky, but starting to become calm. When he glanced into the rearview mirror, he saw nothing but the vacant darkness. The rain changed into a drizzle, and he turned his car back onto the main highway.

* * *

“This is the last of it, girls. Say goodbye before I throw it in,” one of the maids said.

Trott stopped mid-step outside the laundry room. He stared at the women, all five of them who were busy petting and rubbing their faces into a bundle of linen.

“So he’s leaving early, then?” Trott asked.

The women jumped away from the sheets and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Is he?” Trott demanded.

They said nothing. One of them came over to the door and gently closed it in his face.

Trott rolled his eyes. He went on his way, passed the kitchen and to the main staff area where Ross was sitting by the telephone, nose buried in an issue of The Face. Trott went to the dining area, setting his lips to job smile.

Sips was easy enough to spot. The man always did seem fond of wearing flashy button ups with ridiculous patterns, and today it was purple pineapples. He was standing in front of a table, and as Trott made his way around, he saw that it was Alex’s.

Alex, who was apparently done with this vacation. He had probably gotten bored, gotten sick of the staff here panting after him. Trott pinched his thigh hard. He walked closer, going for a recently abandoned table next door.

Trott picked up the cups and plates, ears straining. He kept his back to his boss.

Sips was sighing. “Well, if you’re sure. But I expect you back up there on July twenty-first. No later.”

A fork slipped out of Trott’s hand and clattered onto the floor. Trott crouched to find it.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You’re welcome back any time. Feel free to visit between shows too,” Sips said.

Trott stood and glanced at them. Alex caught his eye, and Trott felt his heart lurch. He turned away and left with the dishes.

So, that’s it, then. Everything goes back to the way it was. Right? Trott hoped so, for his own sanity’s sake.

He dropped off the dishes and returned to the dining room, intent on finding someone who needed something. He didn’t expect Alex, now alone, to flag him down.

Trott considered ignoring him. Or better yet, just walking out the front door and leaving this place, for good. But his body steered towards the table, and when he was there, Alex smiled at him.

Yeah, there wasn’t any way he was going to forget a smile like that, was there?

“How have you been holding up? Your head okay?”

Trott nodded. “Yup. It’s a lot harder than it looks.” He gave it a gentle tap with his knuckles. “Can I get you anything?”

“Ah, I was actually just about to leave. I wanted to check in with you first.” He stood, and pushed his chair in.

Trott glanced at the empty martini glass, then looked back at Alex. He was about to turn, but Alex was digging into his pocket and pulling out a little strip of paper.

And the man looked… shy. Trott let his smile slip into a frown.

“Here.” Alex held out the paper. “If you ever wanna come to one of my shows, just call me. I mean, that’s not _my_ number, but it’s my manager’s. I’ll let them know your name and they can arrange for you to see me.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets after Trott took it. “I told Sips to stop playing that recording he had of me. It sounded bad anyway.”

Trott stared at him, mouth hanging open. What? What was this? Another weird vision? But it felt real. All too real, and weird as shit.

Alex blinked. “Is that cool? I mean, unless you aren’t interested. That’s fine too.”

Trott wanted to ask _why_ , but he couldn’t be bothered to hear the explanation. It wasn’t worth it, was it? He folded the slip in half, and it felt so small against his palm.

“I’ll think about it,” Trott said, and this time his smile came naturally.

Alex looked relieved. “Good. I’d like to see you there sometime, if you get the chance.”

Oh, it hurt, but it also felt like he was swimming through the air on the lazy river of time and space. Trott clutched the paper like it’d blow away if he didn’t. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Alex said. He raised a hand. “I’ll see ya around.”

Trott watched him walk towards the front door, watched him open it to the blinding sunlight outside and disappear into the golden glow.


End file.
